


Well Read

by ginchy



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Smut, medical dorks in love, newlyweds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 04:36:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12473652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginchy/pseuds/ginchy
Summary: Newlywed fun at the Turner flat.  Shelagh likes to read before bed.





	Well Read

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Well Read  
> AUTHOR: ginchy (thatginchygal)  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Call the Midwife or the wonderful characters. I’m just an old fangirl with a smutty mind.  
> NOTES: I used to write a lot of smut. Now I am rusty, rusty. But these two inspire me to try again. On the Turnadette Kettle Scale I’m going to rate this a 4 or 4.5 kettles because it’s just good, happy newlywed/medical dork fluff, and no one swings from a rafter. Thanks so much to the talented my-little-yellowbird for putting up with me and editing the heck out of this piece!! Also, the article read by the Dr. and Mrs. is an actual _Lancet_ article, meaning I have too much time on my hands at work. ;)

“Tim’s out like a light,” Patrick said, closing the door to their bedroom as he entered. “His assignment is finally complete. I’m not sure why he must—” his voice dropped off. 

“Must what?” Shelagh glanced up from her reading at his pause.

“Never mind,” he murmured, taking in her bold, silky nightgown. He traced his eyes over the newly familiar lines of her body as she nonchalantly flipped a page. He pulled his eyes away from the dip in the neckline of the gown. “What are you reading?”

“Hm?” Shelagh looked up again. “Oh, your _Lancet_. An article about converting general wards into private wards.”

“Making plans for the future of the maternity home?” Patrick removed his shirt and vest, tossing them into the hamper. He settled onto the bed, encouraging her to sit forward so that he could wrap his arm around her. 

She spared him a glance, humming in approval as he nuzzled her neck. Yet she continued to read, and Patrick eyed the journal, skimming a paragraph on building codes and room dimensions.

She finished the page and turned to him, eyes bright. “Oh, I know the maternity home is going to have a general ward, but there are smaller rooms available. We should look into converting those into private rooms for convalescence, not just for barrier nursing.”

“Those rooms aren’t too near the nursery,” he mused, brushing his lips against her shoulder.

“Patients won’t be disturbed by the crying and constant commotion. You should still be able to comfortably care for the ward and those rooms, especially with the help of Nonnatus House.”

She lowered the journal. “There’s just so much potential for care, Patrick.” Her eyes were shining behind her lenses, her grin wide.

He answered her grin with one of his own. “So much.” He pulled her in for a kiss, softening his mouth to meet hers. She parted her lips and moved closer to him, a small noise of delight escaping her as their tongues met. He eased from her mouth to kiss her jaw, and down the column of her neck. Shelagh turned her head to offer more of her neck to his lips. He smiled against her, rubbing his chin into the tender skin to abrade before soothing with the full softness of his lips. 

He worked his way across her shoulder, tugging at the thin strap of her gown until it fell down her arm. Shelagh used her free hand to card her fingers through his hair, and to tug him back to her mouth for another kiss. The journal pages caught between them as Patrick used his hold on her to pull her closer still.

Shelagh broke from the kiss as the crumpling paper pressed into her stomach. “Dr. Turner!” She showed him the rumpled pages. “I wasn’t quite finished with my reading.” Something in her tone was impish. She couldn’t quite squash her smile and looked at him as if she were well pleased with herself.

He chuckled in response, enjoying her pleased expression and the ease with which she teased him. He dropped a kiss to her smile before pulling back to run his eyes over her once more. “Forgive me, my love, but seeing you in our bed, barely clothed,” his eyes lingered on the gown’s neckline again, ”reading _The Lancet_ is something quite out of my fantasies.”

Shelagh’s face and chest flushed red at his words, though his confession seemed to embolden her. She lowered her hand and rubbed him through the fabric of his trousers. “Sometimes I read _British Medical Journal_ instead.”

He pushed into her hand with a low moan as he hardened further under her caress. “Your dedication to our vocation is remarkable.”

“So is your…appreciation…of my dedication.” She squeezed him once more, and removed her hand to fold open the journal. “But darling, I’m still reading,” she teased with a giggle. “I cannot be distracted.”

He nuzzled at her ear before whispering into it. “Can’t you?”

Shelagh hummed as he kissed behind her ear. “Not at all, Dr. Turner,” she whispered, holding the journal to her face as if hiding a smile. She pointed to a block of text. “The author suggests a general ward can be converted into a private ward so long as there is at least twenty-eight feet of width and plentiful outside windows. There’s enough space, should you wish to convert.”

“I’m not sure we have enough windows in the maternity home,” Patrick mused, playing along, enjoying her crisp, efficient tone. He suspected that she knew its effect on him and that intrigued him further. “Go on,” he said, before returning his attentions to Shelagh’s neck. He smoothed a hand down her arm to brush the side of her breast as he nibbled at her delicate skin.

“There are a few rooms with windows looking out onto the street.” She arched as his fingers continued to glide down her arm and tease the swell of her breast. Her nipples hardened into sharp points, visible beneath the gown.

“Hm.” He brushed the remaining strap of her nightgown down and ran his fingers over the tops of her breasts. “Are you distracted?”

“Not quite…” She allowed her gown to fall further and expose her breasts, freeing her arms from the straps.

“I suppose ward conversion is a topic that warrants thorough consideration.” He bit at her ear, tugging lightly at the lobe.

“Yes,” she agreed, voice now breathy and soft. She lowered the journal. “The author recommends pastels for wall color in the redesign.”

“Ah.” Patrick palmed her breast before plucking at her nipple, rolling it and tugging. “I am partial to pink.”

Shelagh inhaled sharply, releasing a low moan when he trailed his fingers to her other breast and repeated his actions. “I’m impressed that you know your pastels, Dr. Turner.”

“You are quite cheeky tonight, Mrs. Turner.” Patrick turned onto his side, encouraging Shelagh to follow him down onto the bed, until he could spoon behind her. He pushed her gown about her waist to caress her naked bottom, pinching the full roundness of it.

She squealed and pressed herself backward into his still clothed hardness. “I’m giving what I’m taking, dearest.”

He pressed against her, nuzzling into her hair. “And you’re very good at it.”

She wiggled against his hard length until he let out a low groan and bucked against her. “Apparently.” She fiddled with the journal, trying to hold it upright. “If you’re quite finished with your distraction attempts, I’ll continue to read. You may learn something, Doctor.” 

He released an amused puff of air into her ear. “Perhaps I will. Don’t let me interrupt, then.” He continued his exploration by snaking his hand over her hip to tease the skin of her inner thighs. 

She looked down at the journal. “The pastel walls should be able to withstand pressure washing--” 

“Pressure washing? Sensible,” Patrick muttered, parting her legs to allow his questing finger to trace over her vulva. He teased a finger into her folds and smeared the wetness he found there over the small bit of flesh that pleasured her.

Shelagh whimpered, trying to close her legs together around his seeking hand. “I can’t,” she whispered.

“Can’t what?” Patrick’s voice was low as he continued his light, teasing strokes.

“Can’t—” she growled, dropping the journal to the floor. “Can’t read—” She pulled at his hand until he removed it, and turned, launching herself at him, capturing his lips. 

He pulled back with a wicked grin. “Distracted, then?” He moved his hand between them to continue to finger her, rubbing her until she moaned. 

She fumbled for the button on his trousers. “Take them off,” she begged against his lips. “I need...” She dropped her hand to grasp at him through the fabric, frantically tugging at him.

He choked on a groan and pushed into her hand. Their lips met in urgent kisses as they stroked one another. Shelagh’s gown impeded his arm and restricted his movements, and he pulled away, watching as she slithered out of it. He worked his trousers off as she set her glasses on the side-table. He started to move back against the pillows, intending to pull her on top of him.

“No,” Shelagh said, pivoting to let her back fall against the bed, tugging him down with her. “Like this.”

He settled into the cradle of her thighs as she brought her legs up to rest against his lower back. He leaned in to lick her nipple, biting it softly. Shelagh murmured her approval, and he pushed forward, guiding himself into her wet heat. She arched up, shuddering as she received him. He groaned, moving slowly to give her time to adjust. “Is this what you needed, darling?” 

She brushed at the fringe on his forehead and gave him a shy smile. “Now you look like something from my fantasies.” 

Her cheeks burned red, but Patrick growled his pleasure at her admission, capturing her lips and rocking against her, grinding himself into her most sensitive spot. She broke from his kiss with a keening cry, and clutched at his back. He pulled back and repeated his actions, smoothing the hair from her dewy face as she shuddered beneath him.

“I knew you wanted to be distracted, Mrs. Turner,” he murmured into her ear.

“I did,” she admitted, tracing her nails over his shoulders and neck. “I always want to be with you.” 

He took her mouth again and they began to move together, clutching, and gasping as their delight in one another pushed them to further passion. She broke the kiss to whimper her pleasure and he was further inflamed, whispering his love into her ear. Patrick caught Shelagh’s moan as she spasmed around him in completion and he furthered the orgasm by grinding himself against her until she cried out again, clutching him and clawing her nails into his back. He thrust deeply and grunted with his own release, pulsing with pleasure as aftershocks ran through his body with each clench of Shelagh’s nails. 

Relaxing into his wife, Patrick nuzzled into her sweaty hair and kissed her temple. After a long moment he pulled from her and turned, tugging her to lie across his body as they both cooled from their peaks. Shelagh rubbed her lips across the sheen of sweat at his neck and splayed a hand across his stomach. He drew faint circles on the small of her back, feeling very warm and sated. He chuckled as his breath began to regulate. “I hope you don’t mind that I distracted from your reading.”

“What reading, dearest?”

He looked down at her and they shared an amused grin. She settled back against his chest and he began to run his fingers through her hair. “Sleepy?”

She kissed his chest. “Happy.”

He smiled at the ceiling and continued to smooth his hand over her hair, separating the strands and letting them glide through his fingers. Sated, he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He thought of pastels and tried to imagine pink walls in the maternity home. The paint colors hadn’t been finalized. Though it would remain a general ward there was no harm in taking the advice of the author in _The Lancet_. Keeping up with modern trends would help the maternity home to thrive. Shelagh made a very good argument for the other rooms to be converted into convalescence rooms…

Shelagh propped herself up on his chest to look down at him. “You’re thinking about the article, aren’t you?”

Caught, Patrick looked into his wife’s eyes and winked. “Only because I know that you want to finish reading it, too.”

“You’re right,” she said, with a bashful smile. “I do.” She rolled off of him and leaned over the edge of the bed. She retrieved the journal, and her glasses, before turning back to him.

Patrick sat up against the headboard again and opened his arms to her. She leaned against him. “Now,” she said, thumbing through the pages, “where were we?”

“Pastel walls that can withstand a pressure washing.”

“Quite,” she said, and started reading, this time aloud, “The wall of the ward that separates it from the corridor…”

-the end


End file.
